Drink With Me
by arabesque05
Summary: A simple conversation between two very reticent people. Some things just weren’t mean to last. He knew that. The funny thing was, well, he didn’t think it applied to them. The gang’s splitting up, and Robin’s going to miss one member in particular.
1. Chapter 1

DRINK WITH ME 

Begun: March 11, 2006

Finished: March 12, 2006

_Summary: Robin, Raven A simple conversation between two very reticent people. Some things just weren't mean to last. He knew that. He knew that probably better than anyone. The funny thing was—he didn't think it applied to them. The gang's splitting up—and Robin's going to miss one member in particular. RobStar, RavenBB_

_**A/N: Uhm. Not much to say about this. Whimsy. Rambling. Probably going to be two-three chapters. I wrote the last part first, and then went back and wrote the beginning, so the tone might kind of change a bit. Last third written with Les Mis in mind—beginning was written listening to Savage Garden and Howie Day, so it's probably going to be a little lighter.**_

_**Don't be a stranger. Reviewers brighten my world.**_

I.

It was raining, a gentle hush-hush of falling droplets—a healing, tranquil sort of rain. Pleasant and lovely.

Robin tolerated rain. He didn't really like it—

(_starfire loves rain. starfire loves walking in the rain and dancing in the rain and laughing in the rain and jumping in rain puddles and—)_

—but rain was a necessity, and he realized that. He was very patient, very uncomplaining when it came to rain—he thought it was something that had to happen, like brushing your teeth, or flossing, or helping old ladies across the street, or picking up litter, or writing thank-you notes for every Christmas present he got. It was just something that was required. It was a way of life. It was that simple.

Robin liked simple things. Simple things could be neatly organized and properly structured. Plans were simple things; preparation was simple; stratagems were simple; tactics were simple—simple and orderly and logical and tidy.

Simplicity, really, was very beautiful.

(_starfire is always spontaneous. unorganized. complex. unplanned. impulsive. spur-of-the-moment. beautiful.)_

Raven didn't really have much of an opinion on rain. Or, at least, she never stopped to think about rain. That would have been crazy. That would probably mean one had too much time on one's hands…Brooding sessions were not to be wasted on trivial things like—_rain_. Rain was rain. Water fell from the sky. What else was there?

They had escaped from the din of the common room a short while ago, although from the eerie silence that permeated the halls, it appeared that the other three had all retired to their own rooms. Quiet was an especially rare commodity—rare and odd.

Even he and Raven—impassive, imperturbable, composed, cool—even they felt the urge, after a few moments of savoring, to fill the quiet. So they did something even rarer than the quiet—they initiated and held a conversation.

And it wasn't monosyllabic.

He supposed that the common room, with its couch and pillows, would have been a more comfortable place for conversation-holdings, but he didn't quite feel like cleaning up pizza boxes and soda cans at the moment—and the kitchen was certainly not uncomfortable.

And it had food.

So he'd put a kettle on (for her), and Raven had semi-smiled, and they sat at the table and she had tea and he had ginger ale, which was all that was left in the fridge, since apparently Dumb and Dumber had deemed it too mild for their "extremeness."

Because, certainly, they were _extreme_.

"They're going to miss each other, very much."

He looked up, and Raven was tracing the rim of her cup with one finger.

"Projecting my thoughts again?" He asked.

"You were," she replied, neutrally, "rather loud." He grinned, and was not very surprised when she peered up at him through her eyelashes, and smiled back faintly.

"I'm going to miss them—and you," he said, abruptly. "When, you know—" and he was resorting back to hand gestures, as he always did, whenever he found himself searching for the appropriate words, "—we're all…split up. With actual lives and…stuff."

He really didn't know what people who had real lives did—people who got up a 7:30 instead of 4:00, people who didn't have to fend off two resident black holes to finish their breakfast, people who went to school or work or whatever normal people went to, who came home and had dinner and watched TV and maybe had friends outside the family, who could sleep the advised eight hours a night and not be woken up by some freak accident-of-circumstances caused by a freak accident-of-nature who a) was mental, b) had weird accents, c) was related to him in some way (because, really, his team was his family) or d) should have, by all rights, died of extreme old age…

He supposed that such a life would a drearily predictable.

He wanted that kind of life. There was something to be said for ordinariness.

He thought maybe Raven didn't understand what he'd meant by "with actual lives"—and maybe he should explain his whole thesis-theory-whatever thing to her—but that really would take too long—and what was he supposed to explain to a telepath?

So he merely said, "I'm going to miss you. I mean, we all knew this was coming—couldn't be Teen Titans forever—but—I didn't like to think about it, and—well, I'm really going to miss you."

He didn't let himself think about whom else he was going to miss.


	2. Chapter 2

_**I suppose I ought to have a disclaimer, since, y'know, all the other kids have them...I don't own Teen Titans. There.**_

**_Enormous gratitude to those who reviewed. Reviewers brighten my world. I wuv you. :)_**

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II.

"Will you, indeed?" Raven asked, in her usual bland tone, but there had been a flicker of genuine curiosity.

"Yeah," he replied, suddenly earnest. "I really will. I'll miss you very much."

That seemed to please her, for some imperceptible reason.

(_would starfire care if he'll miss her?_)

"I know," she sighed, and looked back down at her cup. "I—…I suppose that if I were prone to maudlin sentimentality—I'd rather miss you, too. A little bit."

His eyebrows shot up, and were promptly hidden by the dark bangs falling in unruly disorder over his forehead. It made him look…odd. Or maybe crazy. Or maybe eyebrow-less.

"I'm not getting soft," she said loudly.

He raised the soda can up to his lips, effectively hiding an unbidden smirk—"He proposed again, didn't he?"

"In a bath towel!" She burst out, the collected, unemotional demeanor shattering. "And he had a ring and roses and everything!"

He clucked sympathetically, as she buried her face in her hands.

"And the roses were _black_!" She continued, in a muffled, tragic voice. "And the diamond was _black_! And he—he was in a _bath towel_, Robin!" She lifted her head, staring at him with wide eyes. "I don't know why—but he was in a _bath towel_—! Do you _know _how _close_ I came to saying yes?"

And that, of course, would have been just terrible.

The fact that Beastboy had been in a bath towel seemed to factor greatly into Raven's current distress. That was something he could not quite understand—but he supposed that there were those who liked furry, green guys with underdeveloped muscles…

"Well," he said, dubiously, "I guess—I suppose maybe the diamond was just…coal?"

Her eyes lit up with sudden hope. "You think so?"

He shrugged. "All diamonds are coal, really, from a certain point of view. Or—at least, they had been at one time…or something like that. Y'know—carbon and stuff. Though, for all we know, could've been jet, or—"

"You're not helping!"

He shrugged again. He personally thought that the two of them would make a great couple. Not great in the way where everything made sense, or where you could see them grow old together (Raven already acted like she was decrepit or senile or, at least, cranky, and Beastboy would remain a young soul forever) or where they'd have some clear, bright future, or where they'd live happily ever after, or where you could already see the kind of kids they have (Raven? Beastboy? Kids?), or where it was just meant to be, or where it was something that would naturally, effortlessly, predictably happen, or where they matched, or reflected each other—

But he thought they'd be great. It was illogically, unreasonably, irrationally great.

He wondered what their wedding would be like.

He wondered why he would even try to consider it—being 1) the wedding of Beastboy, 2) the wedding of Raven, and 3) the wedding in which Cyborg would be Best Man.

He wondered if she would wear white—

(_starfire would look gorgeous in white—in a bridal gown—coming up the aisle—to him..._)

—and whether Cyborg would cry and how would Beastboy ever manage to get into a tux—

"Stop it!" She snapped, irritably, glowering. "I'm not getting married!"

Ah—the telepath thing again.

He tapped a finger against the table, cocked his head to one side. "Of course not." And he nodded, just for emphasis.

She scowled. "What are _you_ going to do—after all this?"

"What am I going to do, or what do I want to do?"

"Are they separate?"

"Distinctly."

She pondered this, and—"Want, then. Knowing you—whatever you will do probably is all duty and boring stuff…"

"I want," he said, and paused, thinking. "Well, I've always wanted to work at K-Mart. I've always wanted to be the announcer person—y'know, the one on the P.A.? The one that goes, 'Attention, all K-Mart shoppers. Blue light discounts on all cookware. Aisle Six.' It would be awesome."

She blinked at him. "I see."

He thought that she probably didn't, but that was all right. It would probably never happen anyway. Richard Grayson would never work at K-Mart. Richard Grayson would probably go to Cambridge or Yale or Stanford, and take over the business, and be hugely successful, and become fabulously wealthy…

It would suck.

"Well, then. I wish you luck," she said.

He inclined his head graciously, "Thank you."

Neither said anything for a moment. He wondered if maybe they'd finally run out of things to say. That was a distinct possibility. There really could not be that many things to talk about—

(_starfire always has happenings and going-ons to tell_)

—except Raven was looking at him with some sort of expectant look…

"What?"

"Well?"

"Well, what?" He wasn't trying to be daft. He just wasn't very good with the whole cryptic thing she had going for herself.

"Well," she said, with a sort of forced patience he didn't particularly care for, "what about Starfire?"

(_what about starfire?_)

He swallowed. "What _about _Starfire?"

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

He broke the gaze, looked away—out the windows.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't dare say anything.

What could he say?

(_i love her. i'd sell my soul to see her smile. at me. the way she smiles when it rains. i want her to smile at me like i'm rain. even if i hate rain…. i want to marry her. i want to grow old with her. i—)_

He didn't say anything.

And in the silence, Raven found her answer.

"I see." She smiled.

He still said nothing—looked stubbornly out the windows.

"I see," she said again.

And this time, he thought, she really did see.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** Okay, so this is the final chapter. Much love, much thanks to all those of you who reviewed. __Reviewers brighten my world._

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III.

"So you love her," Raven said—a simple, plain statement. He wondered why it felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Love wasn't supposed to hurt.

"Yeah."

"So."

"So."

"So."

"Her name's Kori," he said, suddenly. It seemed awfully important. "She chose _Kori_."

"Anders," Raven supplied, mildly. "Kori Anders."

They sat in silence for a while. He liked that. Words would have ruined everything.

(_he doesn't want to talk about it_)

It was beautiful like this—this thick silence—pure and simple and untangled and clear—a silence of camaraderie and fond reminisces—he liked it very much.

(_why won't raven say anything?_)

"What are you going to do about it?" Raven looked at him blandly. Raven did everything blandly. He'd always liked that—Raven's blandness. Always liked her flat, bland eyes and pale, bland skin and her bland smile and the mildly bored expression she always wore. Raven was pretty awesome with her blandness. Raven, in fact, just was flat blandness. Always.

It was beautiful.

(_because it isn't starfire_)

He didn't answer her for a very long while—she didn't push him. He thought that, too, was beautiful.

Except he wanted someone to push him—he wanted someone to force him to reply—who would not allow him to diplomatically consider his response—who would not leave him in the security of his comfort zone—who would make him _grow_. He wanted pesterings and buggings and—and teasings and making-fun-ofs—he wanted bright laughter and snickerings and radiant smiles—he wanted—

(_he wants kori_)

—he wanted too much.

"I don't know," he answered, after a long, deep pause.

Raven nodded—acceptingly—and sipped her tea with half-closed eyes. She enjoyed her tea better that way. She had told him that. Apparently tea was a thing to be savored. He didn't really know. He preferred coffee. Black coffee.

(_starfire likes hot chocolate with marshmallows_)

Another thick silence settled over them.

It started to get heavy—tautening—

—broke.

"You should probably talk to her," Raven observed. Not an advice—not a suggestion—not a prompt. The Raven only observed.

"Mmm—" he replied. "Pro'bly."

An absent reply—he had made it with a distant sort of air—

He always spoke distantly about things that greatly frightened him. He was a leader—and leaders were brave and courageous—and leaders could never show doubt to his followers—

So he found it easier to speak of things as if from afar—as if the things concerning him did not matter—as if they were insignificant or could be put off—could be shunned to one dark corner of his mind and put away—

As if the things did not really involve _him_.

He wondered if that made him even more of a coward.

"Maybe the next time I see here," he said, vaguely.

Raven inclined her dark head slightly—acknowledging his comment. "Maybe."

And that was that.

He wondered what he would say to Star—to Kori.

(_what he could say_)

He wondered when he would next see her.

(_if he would next see her_)

Raven smiled minutely as he gazed vacantly out the windows—as he watched the rain pitter-pattering on the panes, streaking down the glass—

(_like tears_)

—smiled a fond, slightly pitying smile that bordered on sadness.

(_quoth the raven, "nevermore."_)

And outside—the rain continued to fall.

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_Drink with me to days gone by,_

_To the life that used to be._

_At the shrine of friendship_

_Never say die._

_Let the wine of friendship,_

_Never run dry._

_Here's to you_

_And here's to me._

_Here's to you--_

_And here's to me._

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**Ah. Finally over. I thought it was...bittersweet. Um, disclaimers: the song is not mine. It's from Les Mis. "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore." Poe, The Raven. Much love to all of you who read this, and much thanks to those of you who reviewed.**_


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